


Marigold Melancholy

by violet_sunset



Series: five shining stars (a series of shinee oneshots) [2]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, SHINee, Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Phobias, References to Depression, implied future jongtae, nothing graphic though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_sunset/pseuds/violet_sunset
Summary: Taem has been in and out of mental hospitals, but this is the first time he's ever seen Jonghyun from school in group therapy. Taem is generally wary of other people for a lot of reasons (17, to be specific) but Jonghyun has a particular knack for making him want to open up. Maybe it's the cute eyes and the persistent attitude and the cute face and cute voice and -- yeah. Taem might be in a little too deep already.





	1. New Beginnings

Taem blinks at the linoleum floor beneath the legs of his chair. Group therapy sucks, but at least he can count the dots on a tile and numb his brain until it’s his turn to talk. He got to keep his sneakers this visit to Marigold Mental Hospital, though Eunhyuk (his favorite orderly ever since his second stay) came by not an hour after he’d been admitted and made him undo his shoelaces and hand them over. Probably a good idea, in retrospect.  
  
There isn’t a lot Taem can think of to say for this round of group. He’s talked about why he’s back to his personal doctor already, and it’s exhausting to even consider telling a whole group of people. Taem sighs harshly through his nose and twists around in his chair to glance behind himself. They’re seated in a circle right in the center of the room, which is horrible, because Taem is never sure what’s behind him and he needs to know or else he’s gonna lose his mind. He chews on the inside of his cheek, reminds himself sharply that nothing is just going to fucking materialize when he turns back around, and forces himself to face front.  
  
There’s an extremely pretty person talking about their issues like everyone tends to do during group. Taem is only half-listening, but he catches the bits about a ‘depressive spiral’ and ‘severe anxiety disorder’ because, like, Big Same. Except now Taem really can’t focus because the babe talking looks… very familiar, but Taem can’t really figure out why. He stares at their face, their sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, eyes full and round and warm like puppy eyes. Their lips are nice. Full. Taem notices little acne scars and tries very hard not to freak himself out thinking about the prospect of that nice babely face bleeding in any way. Oh. Oh.  
  
The babe in question? Kim Jonghyun. As in, Kim Jonghyun from his third block Intro to Film class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Kim fucking Jonghyun, who sits two rows behind Taem and doesn’t talk unless it’s to point out the underlying social commentary of each movie in respect for its time period. Kim Jonghyun, who apparently wanted to kill himself no more than two days ago and is now in this hospital for an indefinite amount of time.  
  
“So, yeah,” Jonghyun concludes, folding his hands together in his lap so tightly that his knuckles pale. “That’s me, I guess.”  
  
Yunho, their group director, nods a little bouncy nod, his feet up on the rungs of his stool instead of hitting the floor. “Thank you for being open with us, Jonghyun.”  
  
Taem briefly shuts his eyes and prays Yunho will just wrap things up. He really doesn’t want to talk, especially not with film class Kim Jonghyun here. The thought of having someone from school know about his shit is… daunting.  
  
But, of course, Yunho turns to him. “Taem, you haven’t said anything yet.”  
  
Taem tries not to roll his eyes. “You’re right, I haven’t,” he answers flatly.  
  
Yunho serves him an unimpressed look. “You don’t have to talk if you really don’t want to, but we’re all here to listen if you do. It’s no pressure. And you can talk about anything.”  
  
Taem smirks. Yunho should not have said that. “Did you know Apollo is like, very bisexual in the actual Greek myths?”  
  
Yunho presses his lips into a flat line and nods in resignation, less bouncy than before. “I did not,” he levels, clearly annoyed with both himself and Taem.  
  
Taem kicks his feet a little, then regrets it. He plants his toes back on the ground, savoring the feeling of solid floor. Even the inch of space between the soles of his shoes and the tile is overwhelming. He can’t be high up. He can’t. “Yeah,” Taem says, lacking fervor now. “He, uh, he and this other god fell in love with the same human dude and had like, a spitting contest to see who got to god-marry him or whatever, but they accidentally killed him while they did that. The dude’s name was Hyacinth, and Apollo turned him into a flower. That’s like, where we get hyacinths from.” Taem has extensive knowledge of all historical and mythological gays.  
  
Yunho smiles with one half of his face. “That’s cool, Taem. What is it that interests you about Greek mythology?”  
  
Fuck. Taem feels like that’s a trap. Traps are bad. He feels compelled to answer anyways, maybe to get out of it. Gain some wiggle room so he can breathe properly. “The gods are just really human in Greek myth,” Taem answers. “Flawed. It’s better than all that, like, bullshit where big-G God is supposed to be perfect or whatever. I dunno. It helps to know something that’s supposed to make all the big decisions can also be a bit messed up at times.”  
  
Yunho nods again, eyes lighting up. “That’s true. Flaws aren’t signs of damnation, or failure. They’re what make us three-dimensional, and as long as we can own up to our mistakes and our wrong-doings and try to make right, we’re all good people at the end of the day. It doesn’t matter that we struggle, as long as we try anyways.”  
  
Taem shrugs, feeling too exposed. He can feel eyes on him. It’s making his skin utterly crawl, alive with discomfort. Bad. Feels like bugs. He shudders. “Uh, y-yeah,” he stutters, shoulders drawing in. He darts his eyes around the circle. There are too many people looking at him. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can’t tell if he’s being watched by something else. He whips his head around again, scanning the corners. Nothing there.  
  
“What made you turn, Taemin?” Yunho asks.  
  
Taem cringes and faces front again. Sometimes Yunho forgets that he hates hearing his full name. He can’t hear it without thinking about his mother, and that’s never good. “Phobia,” he answers tightly. “Feel like I’m being watched.” He taps his foot, dizzy. He turns to scan the room another time, then tries to face front, only to get caught up analyzing a shadow cast by a folding chair. Did it move?  
  
“Taem, there’s nothing there, I promise,” Yunho says quellingly.  
  
Taem forces himself to turn around again, distantly aware that he’s clenching the sides of his chair a little too hard, gulping breaths. Fuck. He nods shakily. This is why he shouldn’t fucking talk during group. He’s fine having panic attacks in front of Dr. Tong, but he hates having them here in front of all the other fucked-up kids in the hospital. He feels like a fucking freak-show on display. Like a burden. Everyone else has shit to deal with, too. He’s not important. He shouldn’t make such a big goddamn deal about —  
  
“I can watch out for behind you,” a warm, lilting voice says.  
  
Taem lifts his eyes to see Kim Jonghyun looking at him with something like gentle determination in his expression. He’s so… heckin’ gorgeous and sincere. It does things to Taem’s heart. Taem nods at him a little. “Okay,” he agrees.  
  
Jonghyun smiles and nods back. “Awesome.” He wiggles in his chair. Pleased to be helpful. The cute lil bean.  
  
Taem takes deep breaths through his nose while Yunho wraps up group and tells them all to scatter to the lounge for an hour of ‘free-time.’ A crockpot full of lies, Taem thinks. It’s just like, structured play-time, basically. But for adults. Or near-adults. Most of the kids in Taem’s group are around the same age as him, junior year of high school or younger. So maybe not adults, but still way too old to be sat at tables doing like, puzzles or writing with fucking crayons so they don’t stab themselves. The puzzle pieces can’t be too small, either, or someone might try to choke on them. That’s apparently happened before. Taem is glad he wasn’t there for it. He doesn’t think he could’ve handled that direct view of someone literally trying to off themselves in such a horrible way. Taem has almost choked to death on a marble before, and it remains on his Top 5 Worst Experiences list.  
  
When group disperses and they all head for the lounge, Taem claims his usual spot on the little leather couch he knows they wipe down every morning and settles in to watch one of like, ten movies the hospital plays. This time it’s How to Train Your Dragon. Good. Taem loves this movie. All the little dragon cuties, and the animation style feels really comfy. He wiggles happily in his seat and gets all relaxed.  
  
And then the couch dips, and Taem snaps his head to the side to see Jonghyun perching cautiously beside him. His puppy-dog eyes crinkle with a shy smile. “You mind if I sit here?” he asks nervously, voice soft.  
  
Taem blinks. He has a wall at his back, and everything is clean, and he knows Jonghyun at least a little bit, so he feels… comfortable. “Go ahead,” he replies, and turns back to the TV.  
  
“Cool,” Jonghyun says, and leans back against the couch.  
  
For a while, they’re both quiet. But Taem curls his fists a little every time there’s a flying scene, and eventually Jonghyun talks, because why wouldn’t he? They’re classmates, and now they’re both in the same mental hospital at the same time by sheer chance, in the same group, and he must be naturally curious.  
  
“So,” Jonghyun starts quietly. “You here because of your phobia?”  
  
Taem glances sideways at him and shrugs one shoulder. “Sorta. I’ve got like, seventeen of them and they were sending me into a really bad place. So, yeah.”  
  
Jonghyun’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, making his eyes comically wide. Ugh, someone must have told him how cute that is. If they haven’t, someone should. Does he do it on purpose? “That's a lot,” Jonghyun remarks, but he doesn’t sound judgemental like Taem’s mother always sounds when they talk about it. Instead, Jonghyun sounds curious.  
  
Taem, despite himself, grins. “A whole cocktail of fuckery. It doesn't help that I'm also a hypochondriac so anytime I feel even slightly different from normal I think I'm literally dying, usually because of one of my phobias. Like, fuckin’ mold or filth or poison or chemicals. You name it, I'm scared of it, and I’ve got the name for the phobia.”  
  
Jonghyun furrows his brow. “Swimming pools?” he asks.  
  
It takes Taem a minute to realize he's doing the Name It portion. Taem's smile dissipates as he considers. “The chlorine smell freaks me out. Plus people piss in public pools, or are like, just generally dirty in them. Chemophobia and mysophobia.”  
  
Jonghyun sits forward, playful now. Well, at least they're doing something other than vegging out and getting all nice and bored before art therapy. “Rollercoasters,” Jonghyun offers.  
  
“Fuck you,” Taem says at the mere suggestion, though it lacks bite. “Too high up, and I'm essentially trapped once I'm on. Acrophobia and Cleithrophobia.”  
  
Jonghyun hums. “Dogs?”  
  
Taem winces. “Sorta. The mysophobia again. I can't help it. They're really cute but they just get so dirty.” He makes pathetic little hand gestures to convey his regret at being freaked out by dogs. They really are adorable, but the germs.  
  
“Butterflies,” Jonghyun says.  
  
Taem shakes his head hard. “Entomophobia. I can’t stand bugs.”  
  
Jonghyun’s mouth twists with thought. “Camping? Wait —”  
  
Taem laughs out loud when he sees Jonghyun desperately trying to backtrack, clearly already aware of how messy camping might get with just the phobias Taem has already named for him. “Are you kidding? That’s like half of my fears wrapped up into one shitty weekend trip.” He counts them off on his fingers. “Mysophobia again, entomophobia again, somniphobia, nyctohylophobia, probably a few more.”  
  
Jonghyun tips his head in a gesture that makes him look even more like a puppy. “What are those last two?”  
  
“Fear of what might happen after I fall asleep, and fear of the woods at night,” Taem answers easily.  
  
The look of shock on Jonghyun’s face is priceless. “There are names for those? They’re so specific!”  
  
Taem shrugs. “I have very specific fears.”  
  
Jonghyun looks lively for the first time since… well, ever. Taem doesn’t really stare at his face in school, but the several times he’s glimpsed Jonghyun in class or the halls, he always has this pale, hollow-cheeked look about him. Right now, however, he looks pink in the face and determined. “I’m gonna find something you’re not scared of,” Jonghyun promises.  
  
Taem chuckles. It’ll take a long-ass time to do that. But, now that Taem thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind a little bit of company. Especially if it’s Jonghyun. So he pulls out one of his rare genuine smiles and nods a little. “Sounds good to me.”  
  
*  
“Art therapy,” Jonghyun says flatly as their group shuffles down the hall from the lounge.  
  
For a second, Taem thinks Jonghyun is doing the Name It portion of their new routine again. “I can’t touch the paint without feeling like I’ll accidentally swallow some later. I can’t tell if that’s the chemophobia or the fear of accidentally being poisoned, though.”  
  
Jonghyun laughs and wiggles closer before swaying abruptly away again, looking like he was going to shoulder-check Taem and then thought better of it. “I just meant it as like, a general statement. Ya know? Like. Bleh. Art therapy.”  
  
“Oh,” Taem says with a small laugh of his own. It feels forced. Ugh. Low spoons already and it’s not even dinner. “It helps some people, I guess.”  
  
Jonghyun hums. “Not me. I’m a perfectionist. And not in like a bragging way. Like, it’s part of the way my anxiety manifests. Visual art is bad brain time for me because I feel like it has to be perfect or someone’s literally gonna like, glass me.”  
  
Taem sucks a breath through his teeth. “Damn man, that sucks.”  
  
“Mm,” Jonghyun hums, sharper than the last one. “Hey, uh, do you mind not calling me man?” he asks suddenly, voice wavering. “I’m, uh, I usually don’t like, just come out to people like this and if you’re uncomfortable you can just pretend we never like, talked or whatever and I won’t bother you because I know some people are super not comfy with queer people bein’ all up in their shit but like —”  
  
Taem swings his head in Jonghyun’s direction. “Honey, chill, it’s chill. If it’s gender stuff, I totally get it. I’m a genderless void. And let me know if ‘honey’ isn’t good either.”  
  
Jonghyun breathes in until he looks like he’s swelling, then stops and lets it all out in a giant exhausted sigh. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous, which is like all the time. I just — my gender is all fuck-weird right now and I haven’t had the mental space to sit down and like, Figure It Out, ya know? I just know I’m like, super removed from masculinity and the surrounding identifiers.” He slumps his shoulders, and Taem notices his eyes are tight. But then he bites the inside of his cheek as if to stop himself from smiling and looks shyly at Taem. “And you can call me honey. It’s… different. I like it.”  
  
Taem nods. “Nice.”  
  
They reach the art room at a record late time. Taem hadn’t realized how much they were both dragging their feet trying to hold a conversation unencumbered by curious ears. He gestures for Jonghyun to enter the door first. “Babes first,” he jokes.  
  
“Oh my fucking gosh,” Jonghyun mutters, covering his face with his hands as if his perfectly tanned complexion would even show a blush.  
  
Taem feels pleased with himself for that reaction, and follows Jonghyun in. Most everybody is seated. Thank the fucking stars most of the kids here like to sit in the middle rows, because Taem walks all the way to the back of the room and grabs a desk by its sides and shoves it so he can sit right up against the wall. He doesn’t sit in a corner, because fuck corners; those are the ultimate traps. He does, however, sit where he can see the door clearly. Jonghyun does the same thing, presumably so he can sit close to Taem and not have to be off by himself for this entirely new experience. Which, fair.  
  
“So if you don’t paint,” Jonghyun starts out, eyes darting over all the easels the other kids have set up in front of them already. “What do you do in here?”  
  
Taem rolls up the sleeves of his dark blue cardigan and waves at the nurse who oversees art therapy. She usually sits at the front in a little half-circular desk atop a shitty three-leg stool, but sometimes she walks around the room just to have something to do. And to make sure no one is trying to slurp the paints out of their holders. They’re non-toxic, obviously, but not everyone knows that, and Taem remembers the story about some kid having to get his stomach pumped because he broke into the supply cupboard and drank a whole bottle of the shit. Just because it’s low on toxins doesn’t mean it won’t still fuck with your tummy.  
  
The nurse spots Taem’s hand waving in the air and stands from her stool, reaching into the desk drawer as she goes. She brings him a little book of origami paper and a pack of non-toxic markers. She looks at Jonghyun, sitting in the usually unoccupied desk next to Taem, and smiles.  
  
“Making friends?” she asks Jonghyun.  
  
Jonghyun nods but doesn’t meet the nurse’s eyes. His fingers are locked together in his lap and his left leg is bouncing. He’s shy.  
  
“Okay, I’ll leave you two to it then,” the nurse says, and walks back up to the front without trying to catch Jonghyun’s eye.  
  
Jonghyun glances up at her back as she leaves, then relaxes fractionally and turns back to face Taem, who already has his hands on a piece of origami paper and is working on the first few creases of a crane. He likes to vary them. Some plain, some decorated, and each different colors and patterns than the last. He also likes to make paper boats. His plan is to get one of the orderlies to hang them with something easily breakable and not very harmful from the ceiling tiles once he has enough of them. Like, with floss or something like that. He just thinks it’d make the place prettier. More welcoming. More like shared space and less like a… well, like an off- white-walls mental hospital.  
  
“You’re not scared of origami,” Jonghyun points out.  
  
Taem smiles and shrugs one shoulder. “I guess not.” Then he pouts and slumps a little in his chair as he looks towards Jonghyun. “You found something I’m not scared of. That was too quick,” he teases, only half-serious.  
  
Jonghyun laughs sharply and looks down at his hands, shy again but in a kind of different way from last time. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ll just have to keep finding things you’re not scared of so you don’t get bored, huh?”  
  
Taem snorts and returns to his folding. The crane is coming along a pleasant rainforest green, and it almost matches the sweater Jonghyun is wearing. He finishes it up, then holds it out to Jonghyun, willing his hands not to shake. The last time he passed someone a crane, it was his mother, and he found it balled up after an argument a week later. He cried for hours after finding it, a sad little wad of pastel blue beside her bed-frame.  
  
But Jonghyun takes the crane from him with a delicate touch, and smiles the most sweetly genuine smile Taem has ever seen. His eyes look sort of sad, but at least Taem can tell the smile is real. “Thank you,” Jonghyun whispers.  
And yeah, Taem is really glad Jonghyun has decided not to go anywhere for a while.


	2. Lists and Lonesomeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonghyun makes a list, and Taem has a bit of alone time that doesn't go very well.

Jonghyun sits down across from Taem in the hospital cafeteria with a tiny grunt. He’s wearing a soft olive green shirt and laceless shoes. He must’ve been visited by Eunhyuk sometime after arriving as well. He paps his hands on the table until Taem meets his eyes.  
  
“Scopo,” Jonghyun says excitedly, pointing between his own eyes and Taem’s. “You’re not scared of eye contact.”  
  
Taem smiles. “Not with you,” he admits, only realizing how flirty that sounds when Jonghyun’s eyes widen and he presses his lips together like he’s trying to hold back a smile.  
  
“Um, so,” Jonghyun stammers. He sets a moleskin notebook on the table and ducks his head to hide his face. “I made a list of things,” he mumbles, and pushes the notebook across the table until it bumps into Taem’s tray.  
  
Taem sets his plastic spoon down and shoves away his egg yellows and measly rice portion. He opens the notebook to the place where a white-and-gray feather is sticking out, runs his fingers over the blue crayon list.  
  
'Paper?' Is the first thing on the page. 'Snails, snakes, checkers, cotton, polyester, wool, toothbrushes, teeth, guitars, violins, pianos'… The list goes on.  
  
Taem smiles. “I’m scared of snakes for the venom, never really seen a snail but they sound unpleasant, and I’m okay with checkers, cotton, polyester, wool, toothbrushes, less so with teeth because I’m scared of losing them, fine with guitars, violins, pianos, toilet paper, tile floors, fine with chairs as long as they’re not too high off the ground —”  
  
“Wait wait wait,” Jonghyun says. He’s looking up now, clearly over the initial embarrassment of Taem’s accidental flirt. “I gotta, I gotta check off the ones I was right about in green. Holy shit I found so many things you’re fine with in one shot. Fuck. Uh, uh, I also have another list of things I think I know for a fact you’re scared of, but we can look at them later during free time? They’ve got crayons in the lounge we can write with.”  
  
“Hell yeah,” Taem says, and scoots Jonghyun’s notebook back to him.  
  
For a while they eat in comfortable quiet. Jonghyun uses his spoon to break little bites off the cafeteria’s shitty mock cinnamon rolls. He makes a face when he’s done with the first roll and says softly that the frosting tasted like sharpie, which makes Taem laugh with a swig of water in his mouth. He manages to swallow before there’s a disaster, but it’s a close call.  
  
Jonghyun grins at him shyly, then furrows his brow. “Hey, so, I was up all night thinking and doing stuff,” he starts.  
  
Taem blinks rapidly and shakes his head. “All night?”  
  
Jonghyun grimaces. “I have insomnia. I just kinda laid there.”  
  
“Shit,” Taem mutters, then takes another sip of his water. It tastes stale somehow.  
  
“Ye,” Jonghyun chirps. “But uh, in the midst of staring at the ceiling I started thinking about the whole gender shit because like, I was bored out of my mind and didn’t have anything better to do.”  
  
“How most productive thinking gets done,” Taem says, tipping his paper cup.  
  
Jonghyun nods in a conceding manner. “And I realized I don’t like he/him being my pronouns.”  
  
Taem has a feeling this a topic he needs to be gentle with. “Hey, I’m proud of you for figuring that out.” He sees a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and tries to avoid glancing across the cafeteria to discover the source. Probably a light flickering. He needs to pay attention to Jonghyun right now. “Have you thought about what pronouns you do like?”  
  
Jonghyun wrinkles their nose and shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. It might just be because they’re all so new, but none of them feel quite right. Does that make sense?”  
  
Taem nods. “Perfect sense. New pronouns are unfamiliar, thus scary for the time-being.”  
  
Jonghyun sighs with what seems like relief. “Yeah. I’m using they/them for now, but I’m still figuring it out.”  
  
Taem nods and makes a mental note to remember that. “They/them until further notice it is,” he says with a smile.  
  
They resume eating quietly, but every now and then Jonghyun will glance up at Taem and smile softly.  
  
  
After breakfast, it’s time for Taem to take his meds. He waves bye to Jonghyun and heads downstairs with an orderly and six other kids who need their meds at this time. Taem’s treatment is a cocktail of antipsychotics and anticonvulsants that stave off his hallucinations and seizures but do practically nothing for his persisting phobias. The epilepsy is something he’s had since he was a kid, so it’s easier to manage, but taking his antipsychotics from the dispensary on the first floor feels really uncomfortable. Mostly because they don’t remove the paranoia, just transform it into irrational fears.  
  
Better than hallucinating, he supposes.  
  
Taem doesn’t have individual therapy today, so he goes and chills in his room. He got most of his books taken from him when he first got here because they seemed too disturbing or something. Which, to be fair, Frankenstein is pretty freaky so they had a point there. But they didn’t take The Little Prince and they probably should have. The admission nurse probably thought it was a children’s book, and it sort of is, but it’s also depressing as fuck.  
  
Given it’s his only book and Taem will most definitely scream himself hoarse if he gets bored, he opens up The Little Prince and scans the pages absently. He zones in at the end, at the really depressing bit, and it makes him cry like always. Slow tears leak out of his eyes as his chest starts feeling like it’s being crushed. Fuck. He loves the book, but it makes him feel so goddamn sad. It’s not triggering usually, because he can just get up and go on a walk around his neighborhood when he’s home, but he’s not home right now. He can stalk the halls and get called a schizo by the kids with anger issues, but he’s not really keen on that idea.  
  
Taem sighs and thinks back on some of his more pleasant memories. He doesn’t have many solid ones, since the memories he has of childhood are punctuated by weird auditory hallucinations or the actual sounds of his mother and father screaming at each other. But he has a few. Getting his first friend is a good one. Gwi still calls him up the second he gets out of the hospital every time and asks if he wants to get ice cream. The answer’s always yes.  
  
Minho and Jinki are more good memories. Jinki already graduated high school, so he's at Uni most of the time. Whenever he's home, though, he takes Taem on long car rides to convenience stores and look-outs where they talk about whatever they need to catch up on. Taem feels safe whenever they do that. Minho is a senior, and he's captain of the cheerleading squad which makes him a million times more active than Taem could ever hope to be. It's refreshing whenever Minho comes over at nine in the morning to drag Taem up and make him smoothies. Minho is a healthy impact. Taem only hopes he has even half the positive affect on them that they have on him. He's not really sure what he brings to the table. Snark? Someone to vent to? He's not sure. He hopes he's more.  
  
God, Taem wishes he could text Gwi now for some of her good old bitchy assurances, but he can’t have his phone. He’s so god-awful bored it feels like he’s gonna implode. He makes an uncomfortable groaning sound in the back of his throat and ignores the vague fear that someone else might be in his room. His meds are kicking in slow.  
  
Taem rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes, wondering if he’ll be able to nap before the nurse comes to get him for group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #sorry if this chapter seemed a little wonky and short lol  
> #i figured in expanding this au i needed to add some exposition to clear up what disorders taem has  
> #in case it wasn't clear enough in the text  
> #he's got schizophrenia, epilepsy, and general depression that he can't be medicated for because it would interfere with his antipsychotics  
> #like i said this au is very close to my heart  
> #so i've had a lot of this info backlogged  
> #i'll write more soon <3


	3. Dark Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taem isn't having a very good day, and his exhaustion gives way to a hallucination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be careful with this chapter because i depict one of taem's panic attacks and there's a brief description of what he hallucinates

Group is just as irritating as always, but at least now Taem has something to focus on. The something being Jonghyun, who really does ramble when they’re nervous. Taem is starting to realize that Jonghyun has a knack for talking a million miles an hour and still never running out of things to talk about. Right now they’re talking about their sister, and how when they were young kids they used to play in their grandmother’s strawberry bushes and build little paper hotels for the honeybees in the garden. It sounds sweet, simple pleasure of childhood. Taem has a tiny pit of sadness in his belly that he can’t remember something as gentle and saccharine from his own childhood. His eyes still ache from his short nap earlier this morning, but now they’re beginning to ache for another reason.  
  
He hears a sniffle that calls him back to the present. Jonghyun is wiping at their red-rimmed eyes with their sweater sleeves and sinking into their chair like they want to disappear into the ground. Taem wishes he’d been paying attention, but judging by the embarrassed way Jonghyun cuts their eyes around the circle, it’s that good old depression nostalgia making every happy memory feel heavy. Taem knows how that feels.  
  
“Thank you for sharing, Jonghyun,” Yunho says quellingly. “It’s perfectly normal for memories, even good ones, to make you feel sad, or mad, or even scared. Sometimes, when you have a disorder or condition that makes your day-to-day life more complex and difficult to navigate, your happy memories become reminders of the way things used to be. Not being able to get those old feelings back can be frustrating. But it’s important that you remember everything has its place. Each minute is new, and if you can problem-solve for yourself in the moment, things might start to feel better minute by minute.”  
  
Taem blinks. Yunho has a tendency to get insightful. It’s never struck quite as hard as that little rant though. Taem reaches up to scratch at his cheek for a second while he processes through all that. He thinks of all the times he’s ever remembered getting ice cream with Gwi and felt hopeless; he thinks of sitting in the stands at Minho’s baseball games and cheering at the top of his lungs only to sob until he pukes later that night; he thinks of telling Jinki how much fun he had that day while choking back tears. It’s empowering to know it’s a symptom, and also so so fucking awful to know that Taem can’t keep any of his happiness without a fight. He almost wants to give up, just slump to the floor and refuse to move or eat or drink until he dies. But the hospital would just hook him up to IVs and he’d have to stay here even longer.  
  
“Taem,” Yunho prompts gently. “Are you alright?”  
  
There’s wetness on his cheeks. Taem blinks away the wet blur at his lash-lines and forces a weak smile. “Yeah, fine. Just… That’s some heavy stuff. Like, I’ve always known I was gonna have to fight a little harder than other kids, even before all the… everything with my mental health. It’s just kinda scary knowing that even when I’m happy it might not last and that when I remember being happy it might make me feel worse. Like, I guess it makes me think about all the times I just choose to not feel anything, if that makes sense?”  
  
Yunho nods. “Selective apathy is very common in people with mental illness. But it’s important to remember that if you numb yourself to potentially feeling something you deem as bad, you’re also numbing yourself to feeling truly happy when the opportunity arises. How can you know what you’re missing if you don’t feel?”  
  
Taem feels something akin to dread prickle under his skin. He thinks maybe he’s always known this information on some level, but hearing it feels so so wrong. He doesn’t want to always be open to the bad feelings. He doesn’t really wanna get into that with Yunho though, so he simply nods and stares blankly into the middle distance. Group is exhausting when he decides to talk.

 

“So what did you mean when you said you always knew you’d have to fight?” Jonghyun asks while they draw little hearts and bubbles on a piece of construction paper.  
  
The two of them are sitting in the lounge while My Neighbor Totoro plays on the TV at a volume that’s almost cloying. Taem is marking off Jonghyun’s Potential Not-Fears list with green and red for respective rights and wrongs. He stops for a moment, watches Jonghyun’s fingers as they push and drag their purple crayon around their page. He doesn’t like talking about the schizophrenia with people for fear of the stigma, but Jonghyun almost certainly already knows about the epilepsy since Taem has had multiple seizures at school.  
  
“I was diagnosed with epilepsy when I was like, two,” he says flatly. “I kinda got the short end of the shit-stick in terms of health.”  
  
Jonghyun’s lips pull down at one corner, and they let out a sympathetic little grumble. “I think I knew that, I just forgot.”  
  
“Valid,” Taem murmurs. He scans down the list.  
  
Cooking, red. He doesn’t mind cooking. Sewing, green. Definitely scared of stabbing himself with the needle and bleeding. He sighs, feels his spoons dwindling. He sets his crayon down and slides Jonghyun his notebook gently.  
  
“I’ve gotta stop for now,” he admits. “I’m all activity’d out.”  
  
Jonghyun nods fast. “Ye, valid.”  
  
Taem puffs out his cheeks with a breath then lays his head down on the table as he exhales. He stares blankly at the TV, distracting himself from the shadows around the corners of his vision. He wonders if his meds are decreasing in effectiveness. He’s been hallucinating more intensely lately. Not the terrible regular hallucinations he got as a kid of the people at the end of his bed, or the women in the road, but shadows and flashes of light and the horrible feeling that the door is open or the chair is rocking or the bed is shaking or there are hands in his hair when his eyes are closed. Taem should probably bring that up with his therapist and stop thinking about it now before he ends up hyperfixating on it and giving himself an episode.  
  
For the time being, though, Taem really just wants to hear Jonghyun talk. They’ve gotten more comfortable with Taem, so they ramble a little less when it’s just the two of them. Taem finds himself missing it. He wonders what he could say to get Jonghyun going.  
  
“What’s your favorite animal and why?” Taem asks, feeling like an elementary school teacher as he asks.  
  
Jonghyun snorts like they think so too, but answers nonetheless. Over the next half-hour, Taem learns about Jonghyun’s literal favorite animal, their dachshund named Roo. Jonghyun even draws a little cartoonish version of Roo in the corner of one of Taem’s lists. Taem watches their knuckles shift under their skin, follows the flex of their fingers and the press of their fingers against the crayons. He wonders at the ease of Jonghyun’s motions, like they aren’t fighting against the weight of their own reality. And before Taem knows it, his eyes are shuttered with black and there is a horrible dark glow facing him from where Jonghyun is supposed to be.  
  
Taem tips out of his chair and onto the floor with an aborted scream in his throat.  
  
“Fuck!” Jonghyun yelps. “Are you okay?”  
  
Taem can feel the pain from hitting the floor, but it’s a distant throb in comparison to the pounding of his heart against his ribs. “I’m fine,” he intones. He must’ve dozed off a little.  
  
Jonghyun kneels in front of Taem while a nurse approaches. “You don’t seem fine.”  
  
Taem can’t focus his eyes. He wants to vomit. He thought this was getting better. He thought he could just be okay. Fuck and if his blood pressure skyrockets he’ll be high-risk for a seizure and he just can’t handle this today. The nurse places a hand on Taem’s shoulder, and he shudders. He can’t move.  
  
“Taemin, are you alright?” The voice is familiar.  
  
Ah, Taem remembers it. The nurse is Bo-ah. That would explain the hand on his shoulder. Usually the nurses don’t touch them. Taem nods to her question, then shivers and shakes his head. “Can I see Dr. Tong?” he asks, knowing that his stay at Marigold will be longer now, but he can't bring himself to care. He needs help; he needs this to stop happening. He’s mortified that Jonghyun saw, even if they don’t know what exactly happened. It’s still horrible and embarrassing and Taem just wants to disappear.  
  
Like a dam suddenly breaking, Taem finds himself full-on sobbing on the floor of the lounge. Bo-ah’s hand flutters like she’s resisting the impulse to hug him. “Of course,” she assures him. “Let’s get you up, okay? I’ll walk you to his waiting room and give him a call, alright?”  
  
Taem nods and lets Bo-ah man-handle him to standing. He can just barely see Jonghyun through the haze of panic and tears and shame. This’ll take some explaining.  
  
What a fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #things are gonna get better don't worry  
> #i don't tend to write super angsty  
> #unless i'm in like... a mood TM  
> #but this story is meant to be more  
> #well... melancholy  
> #not outright depressing  
> #so look forward to better times ahead!  
> #more honesty and meaningful conversations!


	4. Panic Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taem is facing the (now slightly longer) road to recovery, and it's more daunting than he feels like it's ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a panic attack and really really vague descriptions of almost-self harm.

There is a four hour grace period after Taem’s meeting with Dr. Tong where he doesn’t have to see anybody. It’s a blessing, honestly. Taem spends the entire four hours crying his eyes out while he thinks about getting his meds upped and having to spend another three weeks here under supervision. But honestly? If it means he doesn’t have to go live with his mother for longer, at least there’s a silver lining.  
  
When it’s finally time for Taem to join general pop for dinner, he’s only just managed to stop crying. His whole face is probably pink, and his eyes are most certainly puffy and raw from all the tears. He covers up in a cardigan and the only jacket they let him keep. It’s a big black zip-up hoodie Minho gave him before he was admitted this time around, and he wears it whenever he feels like shit, which is pretty often these days.  
  
As Taem trudges down the hallway towards the cafeteria, dread fills him even more with each shuffling footstep. He wants to keep being friends with Jonghyun, wants to spend time with them, but he’s just not comfortable telling pretty much anyone about his schizophrenia. It never goes well, and he’s sure it won’t start going well anytime soon. He keeps his head down as he enters the bright white cafeteria, scanning the tables out of the corners of his eyes.  
  
Jonghyun is in a corner, looking deep in thought. They’re chewing on the inside of their lower lip, staring at their notebook as they scribble and scrawl messily in green crayon. They look like they’ve been crying too. Not hard, but their eyes are a little red-rimmed and their hair is messier than they usually let it get. Taem slinks out of their line of vision and lets one of the cafeteria workers slop some squishy food onto his tray. He takes a sit where he thinks Jonghyun can’t see him and just pushes his food around the compartments with his spoon. He manages maybe two bites.  
  
Logically, Taem knows he can’t avoid telling Jonghyun forever, but the only people he’s ever successfully told were Gwi and Jinki, and even Minho had to get the gist of it from them before Taem would even interact with him. It’s too much. His eyes blur with more tears, and he pushes his tray away and lays his head down in his arms. He can’t cry hard here. Can’t draw attention to himself. It’s too much. Too much. The table feels sticky against his wrists and he gags, sitting up and violently raking his nails over the skin there. Too much.  
  
But he’ll draw blood if he keeps scratching. Taem tries to swallow, but the panic clogs his throat and makes it impossible. He gasps, breathing shallow. His chest feels impossibly tight, like he’s been wrapped with a billion rubber bands. He’s gonna pop. Is his heart gonna give out? Oh shit, is he dying?  
  
An orderly is making a beeline for him, and he can’t see who it is, only knows they’re coming right at him and their face isn’t their face — it’s a jumble of teeth and shadow and bad. They’re going to hurt him and their hands are too angry and blurry and everything burns. It all burns so bad.  
  
Taem grays out, feels touches against his shoulders, an arm looping around his waist and taking him out on numb legs. He staggers, chokes on more attempts to just fucking swallow. The lights hurt more than anything has ever hurt before.  
  
“—min?” a voice warbles towards his ears. “Taemin, can you hear me?”  
  
A frantic nod.  
  
“Okay, good,” the voice says. Is that Eunhyuk? “We’re in the hallway, and it’s just you and me, and you’re okay. Okay?”  
  
Taem shakes his head fast. He still can’t breathe, still can’t see past the shifting glittery shapes in his direct line of vision.  
  
“You’re safe, kiddo.” Definitely Eunhyuk. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re at Marigold, and I’ll kick anyone’s ass if they try to hurt you, okay?”  
  
“What if —” Taemin tries. His voice is rough. It burns to talk. “What about—?” he cuts himself off with a hacking cough and a trembling inhale.  
  
“Whatever you’re seeing isn’t going to hurt you, alright? It’s just you and me in this hallway, and everything else is just a picture your brain made up because it’s scared and wants you to react, alright? You with me?”  
  
Taem knows it’s true. He’s heard it before, knows that his mind plays tricks on his eyes and ears and even sometimes his body. He’s felt the sinking of claws into his chest and found no scar, has seen the menacing figure of someone in his bedroom doorway and blinked it away. He can’t be hurt by the shapes and the pulsing and the waves of cold terror. It won’t hurt him. He just needs to breathe, needs to focus on calming himself down, on getting back into the moment. The hallucinations might not fade, but the panic can go away if he lets himself be in the present, in the real.  
  
“Eunhyuk,” he gasps out.  
  
“Good, come back to me,” Eunhyuk encourages. “Tell me something you see in this hallway that you know for sure is real.”  
  
Taem darts his eyes over the tile. It looks vaguely staticky from the panic attack, but he can make out the pattern. “Green, red, and white tiles,” he answers. “At a diagonal angle so they look like little diamonds.”  
  
“Very good,” Eunhyuk says. His hand is pressed against Taem’s chest, no doubt to help him feel grounded. “Tell me something you smell.”  
  
Taem breathes in deep through his nose. There’s the faint peachy smell of Eunhyuk’s shampoo or body wash or something, but underlying it is the unmistakable smell of — “Shitty cafeteria meatloaf,” he answers, crinkling his nose.  
  
Eunhyuk chuckles. “Ya don’t gotta tell me,” he gripes. “One more thing. Something you hear that you know is real.”  
  
There is a distant ringing in Taem’s ears, something like tinnitus but mostly like hallucination. And the roar of blood in his ears. And the chop-chop-chop of the box fan at the end of the hall by reception. “The box fan down the hall,” he answers.  
  
He can see a little clearer now. His heart isn’t his throat anymore and though his limbs are still tingly, they’re definitely there. Eunhyuk’s warm expression is hovering close, but not uncomfortably near. He lets go of Taem and just sits cross-legged on the floor across from him while Taem catches his breath.  
  
“You okay now?” Eunhyuk asks tentatively.  
  
Taem shrugs one shoulder tiredly. “Good as I can be.”  
  
Eunhyuk nods and sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yeah, I heard you had kind of a shit day.”  
  
Taem grimaces then sighs, shoulders slumping. He realizes he’s sitting up against the wall, legs out in front of him like he was shot backwards. God that was a bad one. “They added three weeks to my stay just to monitor my progress with an increased dosage. I think I’m gonna go stir-crazy before anything, really.”  
  
Eunhyuk laughs at that. “I’ll make sure you get a couple phone-calls in for good behavior. Maybe you could get that girlfriend of yours to visit.”  
  
Taem rolls his eyes. “Gwi’s not my girlfriend,” he reminds Eunhyuk.  
  
Eunhyuk holds up his hands in mock surrender and raises his eyebrows. “Could’ve fooled me, buddy.”  
  
Taem scoffs and just rolls his eyes even harder. Then he picks at the slowly fraying hem of Minho’s hoodie and averts his gaze to the floor. “Thanks,” he mutters into the quiet.  
  
“Any time,” Eunhyuk assures him. “And hey, look on the upside. The panic attack didn’t trigger a seizure this time!”  
  
Taem smiles. “Yeah, the anticonvulsants they’ve got me on are workin’ their magic.”  
  
Eunhyuk stands, forcing Taem to look up if he doesn’t want to be staring right at his beat-up jogging sneakers. “I’ll make sure you get a rest day tomorrow to walk around with an escort nurse. You can even go to the hospital library if you’re good and eat all your breakfast.”  
  
Taem could cry again, but happy tears this time. “Thank you,” he whispers.  
  
Eunhyuk extends a hand to help Taem up in lieu of a response. “Take it easy,” he grunts as he pulls Taem up on wobbly legs. “You’re probably gonna be high-risk for a seizure tomorrow, so don’t get any funny ideas and try to shirk your escort.”  
  
“No promises,” Taem teases. “Unless Bo-ah is my escort.”  
  
Eunhyuk barks out a laugh. “You might be a bit young for her taste.”  
  
Taem mimes gagging. “Gross dude, she’s like my big sister.”  
  
Eunhyuk starts to lead Taem back to his room, joking all the while.  
  
It’s always nice to ride out the aftermath of a panic attack in Eunhyuk’s company, because he’s distracting without being cloying. But beneath it all, Taem still feels the horrible clench of fear that he’s going to have to face Jonghyun sometime soon. He doesn’t want to, especially not after that. He doesn’t doubt that everyone in the entire damn cafeteria witnessed his freak-out. But Taem does his best to ignore all the worry as Eunhyuk lets him into his room and gives him the whole spiel about getting a good night’s rest and not lying awake thinking too hard. Sleep deprivation is rough on epilepsy, after all.  
  
Once Eunhyuk leaves him to his own devices, Taem covers up his pillow with Minho’s jacket and buries his face in it. He stays in his day-clothes, not even bothering to toe off his shoes before he starts to drift. He desperately misses his friends. He’s probably a bit dependent on them, if he’s being honest with himself, but that’s not an issue he’s ready to confront quite yet. They bring him so much comfort and security. He just needs Gwi to come pick him up and take him to get vanilla and strawberry ice cream at their favorite place downtown. He needs to movie marathon with Minho and Jinki. He needs to crash on Minho’s couch and wake up to waffles. He needs to snuggle Gwi until they both fall asleep. He needs Jinki to drive him around and just talk about nothing.  
  
But for now, all he has is a quiet room and an absence of sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #listen taem and eunhyuk just shoot the shit whenever they can  
> #also taem adores bo-ah so much  
> #she recites poetry to him  
> #and he hums a little rhythm to her while she does so.  
> #it's just cute,,, he loves them all so much  
> #this chapter is rough but i'm not a big angsty person unless i'm rlly tryin to be  
> #so this fic is mostly just like AAAH mental illness and then fluff to fix it  
> #just like i try to live my life lmao  
> #but with better coping skills than taem tbh  
> #don't worry he'll get there

**Author's Note:**

> #i have so many ideas for this fic y'all  
> #i could write more chapters for this if anyone is interested  
> #so comment if u want more and anything u'd like to see me write about  
> #nothing super triggering pls  
> #i stray away from graphic violence  
> #but this au is a fav of mine  
> #very close to my heart  
> #and if others like it as well i'll write more :))


End file.
